


Not As A Last Resort

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: The Brightest Witch Of Her Age [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Bashing, Molly Weasley Bashing, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: Hermione found that the word wasn't "inevitable". Inevitable would have given too much power to that thing that had been doomed to fail.Ginny can't understand.





	Not As A Last Resort

Hermione looked up from her spot on the couch and sighed knowing the voice on the other side, yelling for her to open the door: Ginny.  She supposed she would never be free from the singular moods of the Weasleys, but at least it wasn’t Harry since he would give her that puppy-eye look maybe, or try to be as gentle as possible while he asked what happened. She found that she hated it more that he was still only asking because he wanted them to be together… At least, that’s how it felt most days. 

She shook her head as Ginny pounded at the door again. 

“Hermione! I know you’re in there! I can see the lights!”

She rolled her eyes. As if she would hide from Ginerva Weasley after a year of hiding from the Ministry of Magic and all of the Death Eaters.  This was the reason she didn’t like to spend much time in this flat. Why she was getting rid of it and letting herself have the peace she needed. It was time to stop pretending that everything was okay  _ before _ the fact that everything wasn’t okay came spilling out of her. 

This wasn’t a last resort retreat, but a sensible one.

“Coming!” She said, setting her half-written letter aside and standing. Ivan sat perched on the windowsill, waiting for her to finish her letter and enjoying the snacks she always had for him. 

She still wasn’t sure if she wanted to cut off all communication with everyone, including Viktor, but something in her said that she wouldn’t be able to do that.  The way that she had planned her hiatus from the wizarding world, she had the option of getting mail from it. 

Something about the idea of going another year without hearing from Viktor made her stomach churn uncomfortably. She opened the door and a small body with fiery hair came in waving her hands wildly.

“You quit your job?!”

Hermione sighed and closed the door behind the younger woman. Ginny Weasley looked at her. 

“Explain. Is this about Ron?”

“No.”

“Then, bloody hell what is it?”

“Funny that that’s the only thing that you could think of,” Hermione said walking back to the couch. 

Ginny followed her unwilling to be turned away, “Harry’s worried. I’m worried. You  _ loved  _ your job. It’s in the library!”

Hermione settled herself back onto the couch and looked at Ginny, “I thought I loved my job… Sure, I could read all I wanted, but I wouldn't say I loved it.”

“Ron’s convinced that you’re sad because of whatever happened between you two,” she said looking over Hermione. “Yet… you aren’t exactly eating gallons of ice cream.”

In truth, Ron had been rather vague about why they weren’t together. He’d insinuated that he’d been the one to end it, but Ginny had laughed at him. Ron wouldn’t have ended a relationship with Hermione unless he’d absolutely had no choice and Hermione wasn’t a cheater. 

“I ended it with Ron, why would I be sad about it?”

Just as she thought, which meant there was no telling why they were over, “But you two were--”

“Predictable,” she said, deciding that was truly the best word for what they’d been. Inevitable had given a little too much power for the flimsy relationship, the practically dead romantic feelings she’d once harbored for Ron. Inevitable meant that no matter what she did they would have been together and as much as people at large would have liked her to believe that were the case, it simply wasn’t. 

She had a choice. 

She didn’t have to live by anyone else’s rules, secrets, lies, history, or general prejudice ever again. The war was over and with that came the realization that she had full control over her destiny, over what would be safest, best, and most fitting for Hermione. She’d bled enough for the wizarding world. She wasn’t going to bleed anymore for anyone else; she just didn’t have enough blood in her system.

“Not perfect for one another. Not inevitable.”

Ginny blinked looking at her, not really sure what to do with this Hermione and Hermione’s lips lifted into a smirk.

“Harry looked at me like that when we talked at 12 Grimmauld.”

Ginny blinked, “Like what.”

“Like he didn’t know who I was.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Ginny said shaking her head. “A Hermione that doesn’t love the library? That quits her job? Breaks up with Ron after dancing around him for  _ ages _ …”

Hermione shrugged and went back to writing, Ginny’s eyes narrowed at the neat penmanship, the blue and gold rose ended quill, then glanced over to the owl munching in the corner. She’d never seen an owl quite so large with pure black feathers, but she’d also knew that Hermione didn’t own an owl… Hermione didn’t have a familiar, not after Crookshanks had died during the war. Not to mention, she was pretty sure that Hermione would never have bought herself a quill that was so beautiful, meaning that it had to have been a gift. It couldn’t have been from Ron. Harry, maybe? But something in her gut said that it wasn’t either of them.

“Who are you writing to?”

“Viktor,” she replied, easily, dipping her quill.

“You’re still talking to Viktor?!” Ginny nearly screeched, standing up to look at her. “Of course you and Ron had a row! What are you thinking?”

Hermione looked up from her work, forward, and set her quill aside before setting her letter back on the table, the book she was using to write on as well before looking at Ginny.

“Perhaps we should talk,” Hermione said.

“Yes,” Ginny nodded. “We should talk about why you’re writing to Viktor even though you and Ron were dating.”

“I’ve been writing to Viktor since fourth year,” Hermione said. “With the exception of the year of running.”

“Fourth year?” Ginny asked, her eyes widened. “Does Ron know about this?”

“He never cared to ask.”

“Who asks their girlfriend if they’re writing to an ex?”

Hermione sighed and looked at Ginny plainly, “Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“I’m not sure what to think Hermione,” Ginny said honestly. “This isn’t like you and you’re not giving me much to go off of here. All I have is--”

“Ron’s word?” Hermione asked. “Well, people change, Ginny. What happened between me and Ron should be kept between us. What Ron choses to tell everyone isn’t my problem.”

“Hermione,” Ginny started. “I’m not sure… where this is all coming from.”

“My conscience is clear, Ginerva,” Hermione said. “No matter what Ron says, no matter what you may think, my conscience is clear and I have no reason to explain myself to anyone. I’m tired of it.”

Ginny swallowed looking at Hermione, seeing something more than just Ron making her eyes dark and her sigh tired. 

“I am tired of everything I do being for someone else, for bleeding for someone else. I’m tired of being judged for what my actions will do to other people. I am tired of living by someone else’s schedule.”

“Hermione, I… I don’t understand.”

“Because I don’t have my head in a book? Or because I’m not following Ron and Harry around?”

Ginny closed her mouth as Hermione met her eyes. 

“He’s your brother. Friend or not, you have a loyalty to him first, I understand that. However you feel about us splitting, it’s your prerogative, but know that there is nothing you can say to change that it’s over and will remain over.”

She sat back, “And for your peace of mind, I told Viktor when Ron and I started dating… I also told him when we stopped. We trade letters constantly and they are all nothing but friendly, open,  _ caring _ . Whatever we had in fourth year, whatever we could have had, isn’t what we have now.”

It had been more than just the private, intimate, timid moments of fourth year. An adult version of what they’d built between the library and the tower. There was a deeper intimacy now, even though she hadn’t seen him in person since the World Cup.

“Is that because he’s not here?” Ginny ventured, Hermione scoffed.

“It’s because we have things to deal with and we’re mature enough to see to them before hurting anyone else with our problems.”

Ginny stepped back. It isn’t said with any malice, no bite, but a pure statement of fact. 

“What’s happened to you?”

“The same thing that’s happened to all of us,” Hermione said. “War.”

Ginny looked down as Hermione turned back to finishing her letter and moving to seal it. She stood then and Ginny followed her to where Hermione was walking, a bag on the table, luggage and boxes and her eyes widened. 

“Why… are you all packed up?”

“I’m going on a sabbatical,” she said, lifting Ivan from his perch and stroking his feathers. “Fly safely, Ivan.”

“A sabbatical to where?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said with a shrug as she gave Ivan her letter and sent him on his way. “Somewhere far away, maybe nowhere. I’m just going to… be for a little while. I’ll be leaving at the end of June, after I get all of my affairs in order.”

“You’ve gone mental,” Ginny said. “Hermione, do you hear yourself?”

Hermione nodded, refusing to acknowledge the twinge of that word. 

_ Mental… _ Had she gone mental? She wasn’t sure, but that’s why she was leaving, to figure it out. She’d told Viktor as much and now that he was so busy trying to get Cyrus back onto his feet, he didn’t need her constant support as much.  He understood her need to be alone while he was trying to battle for Cyrus to come around of course still deal with his own issues.

“Yes and, for the first time, I’m listening too.”

Ginny walked out of the flat, shaking her head and apparating away while Hermione went to her kitchen to continue packing. It doesn’t take long to figure out what she can keep out, what she needs to put away and breathe. She goes for a run later that night. When she returns there’s a bright red letter sitting on her table.

She let out a sigh, let the world never say that she would ever be free of red headed anger as it tore itself open and hovered. Molly’s voice, usually so motherly, was a shrill and damaging as it had been when she’d sent Ron his howler. 

“ _ Hermione Grange _ r, had I known that you were so  _ base _ as to do this to Ron, I would have never let you set foot in my house! How dare you cheat on him and refuse to apologize! Do not think you have a welcome spot here any longer, you filthy muggle-born  _ whore _ . And another thing...” 

Hermione walked to pack her bag as it continued to scream at her, following her around the flat hurling insults that would have cut her like wires, straight through her soul if it wasn’t already in pieces.

“Rita Skeeter was right about you all these years, nothing but a fame-chaser, well I hope you’re happy! Stay away from Harry, he’s Ginny’s. Stay away from us all and go enjoy your paltry existence with your muggle parents! Good day!”

Hermione watched it tear itself up and collected the pieces before slipping them into an envelope and addressing it to Ron. She didn’t write anything, nor did she bother to sign her name to it. She just dropped it off at the nearest owlry after she’d grabbed her bag for her first day of sabbatical preparation. She had a lot of ground to cover, a lot of people to meet and little time to do it in as June was right around the corner. After Molly’s howler, it’s two weeks of simply apparating to places to follow up on their job postings, all muggle part-time temporary positions. 

When people ask her for her name, muggle or wizard, she tells them to call her “Jean” and drifts through the streets free of Hermione. She ends up in a myriad of libraries and places of study, places she’s looked at before as post-Hogwarts options and sits in to lectures, to speeches, to practicals until the two weeks is over. When she stepped back into her flat, she knows that there’s no other option. She has to do it, for however long it takes to feel settled again. For however long it takes to feel like she should have a plan again.  So she packs ups all of her things and apparates to her secret flat to unpack everything. 

She turns in the keys to her flat to the landlord and leaves her wand at her flat in the box where she used to keep the quill Viktor gave her. She sets up her magical and muggle post box and sends out her letters. One to Harry so he wouldn’t worry, one to Viktor, Aleksandr, Petya, and Antonio so they could keep in contact, one to the Acropolis students, the last few are for the staff at Hogwarts before she leaves the flat and begins her journey. She picked up a prepaid phone to keep with her in case any of the Muggle places of business give her a call back, but other than that she catches the bus, the train, and planes to wherever she thinks she wants to go, using as little wizarding transportation as she possibly can. 

Of course, she allows herself magical time to go study with people of various places, people who don’t ask questions about why she’s going by Jean, why she’s without the other two of the Trio. They don’t ask, but teach her everything she wants to know and more. She gets a the job at a Swiss Chocolate Shop that only needs her to work part time. It’s rather peaceful, the monotony of following the recipe, stocking the shelves, listening to the patissier and chocolatier talk about the fine art of it. She tends the books and other odds and ends of the shop more often than not and helps them grow their customer base. 

It feels good to be contributing to something that isn’t life threatening. She sends chocolate to people she knows, sending Ginny’s package to Harry since sending it to the Burrow was bound to get it blown up. For a while, she’s just Jean, working in a Chocolate Shop with no worries or cares beyond the next day’s sales. She almost wished it would stay that way. 

*

Viktor can’t figure it out. Cyrus’s eyes are empty when he comes out of the room. He has a wand box in his hand, paperwork, but there’s no emotion behind those eyes. Not anymore…

“Cyrus?”

He turned and handed the box and the paperwork to Viktor, “Hold on to these for me?”

Viktor shook his head, “For as long as you need.”

Cyrus turned then towards the exit of the Ministry and apparated away. Viktor carried the items out the door and apparated home wondering where Cyrus could have been going.

Cyrus arrives in Athena’s, Mary Cottonseed’s, hometown at the edge of the cemetery. He walked through the rows to find her and kneel seeing the words engraved there. Cyrus swallowed and pulled a single blue rose from his robes to set on the grave. 

He went to Odin’s next. Then, Diana’s. Then, Isis. Gilgamesh, Amaterasu, Jade, Siren, Muse, Nyx, Osiris, and finally Amon’s before returning to Viktor’s house. Viktor, to his word, hadn’t placed the items in Cyrus’s room, but kept them. Cyrus was grateful, not sure if he could handle the sight of them as he sat on the floor of the bedroom Viktor had given him and stuck his feet in the fire. The flame was warm, just warm enough to dispel the chill in his bones that hand nothing to do with the warmth of the room. 

“Hey,” he greets as Viktor was about to knock on the open doorframe. “It’s… weird.”

Viktor walked in to see what he meant and tried not to yell in terror seeing Cyrus’s feet sitting in the flames as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Instead, he took a seat beside the man. 

“Most people… put their feet near the flames.”

Cyrus let out a laugh, “I’m part dragon apparently. I think we can safely say that I’m not  _ most people _ .”

Viktor let out a breath, “Are you… alright?”

Cyrus leaned against him seeking touch, but didn’t answer. VIktor wrapped an around his shoulder and rubbed them gently. 

“I… I don’t know.”

Viktor hummed, “Considering something?”

“Killing the Minister.”

Viktor snorted, “Let’s not get hasty.”

Cyrus looked up at him , his eyes trailing along the planes of Viktor’s face so intensely that Viktor blushed under the gaze. 

“Better hasty than self-damaging, right?”

Viktor winced, “No--”

Cyrus pulled him down, barely an inch away, his eyes flashing gold as warm words that he couldn’t understand came from his lips in hot air and heat rolling down Viktor’s spine. Viktor fidgeted, his pants getting tighter inexplicably as he tried to get some sort of balance as something hot and prowling washed through the room like a great tide and threatened to drug him and bowl him over. 

Cyrus released him when Viktor was swooning, wavering where he sat as if he’d had six too many drinks. 

“Cy-Cyrus?”

The man blinked drawing back and grimacing, cursing himself, “I’m sorry…. I didn’t mean to… damn it.”

He moved to stand and Viktor caught his wrist. 

“It’s  _ fine, _ ” he slurred, feeling pleasure and punch-drunk, slumping against Cyrus. “It’s fine.”

Cyrus didn’t move, but let Viktor lean against him until some semblance of control returned to him. He shook his head clear of it and looked at Cyrus. 

“I’ll… I’ll make dinner.”

Cyrus removed his feet from the fire and stood to leave the room leaving Viktor there with a rueful smile. At least, Cyrus wasn’t running away from him literally every time he went into whatever sort of trance that was. Viktor would count it as progress and as soon as he could get up without it feeling like his pants were three sizes too small across his crotch, he’d get up and join Cyrus in the kitchen. 

 


End file.
